


White Noise

by nuuboo (orphan_account)



Category: Naruto
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 09:11:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5200295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/nuuboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Naruto comes to Iruka after Asuma's death; Iruka explains a shinobi's grief.</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Noise

“Hey, sensei?”  


Iruka didn’t put out his cigarette, and Naruto was somehow glad that he didn’t. He felt a little older, like he was suddenly being trusted with a not- _so_ -dark secret he didn’t know of before. 

“Kakashi-sensei and Asuma-sensei were—friends, right?” Iruka waited for Naruto to continue, and Naruto frowned at the floor. “Kakashi-sensei… isn’t any different. He’s the same, ‘ttebayo. But if they were friends, then—if one of  _my_  friends ever—if it was Sakura-chan, or Shikamaru, or—”  


When Naruto stopped, he gave Iruka a pained expression, and Iruka couldn’t help but think that Naruto was the most selfless person he knew. It was Naruto’s gift, this empathy; he chewed on his lip and stared worriedly at the floor, hurt and grieving on Kakashi’s behalf. Iruka wondered what Kakashi would say if he knew about this, and tucked away that pending decision for later. 

“Everyone grieves differently,” he offered, watching the end of the cigarette burn steadily. Asuma’s brand, he thought. He was almost certain that this carton was a poor gag gift from Asuma himself, accompanied by a pat on the back that usually sent Iruka stumbling forward a few paces. “It’s harder on some than it is for others.”   


Naruto sighed, looking burdened by the world, and fiddled with the beginnings of a hole at his shirt’s hem. Iruka stared at it in silence, trying to recall how many years ago it was that he’d bought him that shirt, but he couldn’t. He ought to take Naruto shopping soon, he thought; Naruto would protest, but they’d make a day of it. He could use that. 

When Naruto remained silent, Iruka rubbed the cigarette out on the ashtray and settled into the couch. Naruto slumped against him, legs tucked under his thighs like he used to when he was a boy small enough to fit cozily in Iruka’s lap. Iruka tried not to think about it. He tried not to think about anything at all.

“I always taught you to appreciate your emotions—that it’s an important part of you. Makes you human.” Naruto nodded, and Iruka stared out the window, unseeing. The rain hadn’t stopped much since the funeral. It dripped miserably down the glass, muted white noise on the roof. “But some of us lose that. When you go out there and you do things—unimaginable things, unforgivable things—it chips away at you. It changes you. You come back… different. You tell yourself that you do it for the village, for your home, for your family… but that doesn’t change a damn thing. Not really. There’s nothing glorious about it—not the way you thought when you were a kid. Saving your village, being a hero… nothing glorious at all.” 

Naruto looked up then, taking in the bags under Iruka’s eyes and the visible stubble on his cheeks. He looked at the ashtray, half-full, then at the dust on the coffee table. There was little he can do, he thought then; Iruka’s grief filled the room like a stifling mist, and Naruto felt it weigh down on him uncomfortably. He squeezed Iruka’s arm, digging through the countless memories of times Iruka comforted him in a feeble search for guidance. Nothing useful sprung out.

“That’s what happens to some people. Little by little, it changes you until you’re too different to change back. You feel, but you can’t cry anymore. You can’t let it out—and when you lose that, you lose your outlet. That’s what crying is, you know—an outlet. And without that, you just feel and feel, and it grows, spreading like a mould or a fungus until it covers all your insides. And when it has nowhere left to grow, it folds in on itself. It eats you from the inside out. It’s a parasite. You’re just a host, and hosts aren’t in control.”  

The drumming on the roof increased, and Naruto found himself unable to say a thing. Whatever response he thought he had remained lodged in his throat, swelling in painful throbs. 

“…it’s not fair,” he mumbled at last, feeling ten years younger in light of his helplessness. Iruka continued staring at the window. Naruto wondered what it is he saw out there, beyond the rain. 

“No,” Iruka said, quiet. “It’s not. But so are a lot of things. All you can do is hope, and… I hope every day that it won’t happen to you.” 

After a minute, Naruto let his head fall against Iruka’s shoulder in silence. “It won’t, ‘ttebayo, I promise.” Naruto inhaled shakily, eyes burning, and exhaled a poorly-controlled breath. “I’ll make a village where  _nobody_  has to suffer—not like this. I’ll make it better, dad, I will! It’s not—it’s not fair.  _It’s not_   _fair._ ”

He cried for Kakashi, mourning his loss as though it were his own in all its unspoken capacity. Iruka closed his eyes and thought to himself that this wasn’t the world that Naruto should’ve been born into. There was little room for his kindness, for his good heart and bright smiles; this wretched world would ruin him, strip him of his light, rob him of his happiness—and Iruka hated it. It would tear Naruto apart, sucking the life out of him like an unavoidable disease, and there wasn’t a damn thing Iruka could do to save him from the future he saw ahead. He grit his teeth and listened to Naruto’s sniffling, barely audible beside him. 

“I know, Sunshine,” Iruka lied. Naruto held onto Iruka’s arm, murmuring his promise of a better future again and again into Iruka’s sleeve. “You’ll do just fine. If it’s you… you’ll do just fine.”


End file.
